


Always on My Mind

by wilddragonflying



Series: Roleplays [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M, Sammy can read minds, Sibling Incest, Telepathy, Well - Freeform, Wincest - Freeform, Witches, curse, just Dean's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean pisses off a witch. The witch wants to get him back, so she decides to try and drive Sam away from Dean. Unfortunately(or fortunately, depending on your point of view), things don't work out the way she'd planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always on My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Holy hell, this one is a LOT shorter than our usual RPs. Well, anyway, you know where to send your love!

"You ready?"

Dean glanced over at Sam, who was sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala. They'd been working a case with witches(seriously, Dean fucking _hated_ witches; why did _they_ always get the witchy cases?), and they just needed one last bit of evidence before they could kill the girl they had pegged as the witch. They just needed to find her altar. "Ready as I'll ever be," he replied to Sam's question, opening the door and stepping out, fidgeting with his suit. He hated the damn things; too many pieces to keep track of, and he thought they made him look ridiculous. Cutting a quick glance over at Sam, Dean mused that _Sam_ didn't look ridiculous in a suit. He actually looked pretty damn— _Whoa, no, that's not appropriate, Winchester,_ Dean reminded himself. 

He led the way up the short sidewalk to the little house that belonged to one Erica Montayes. Glancing over at Sam one last time, Dean pasted a small smile on his face and raised his hand, knocking on the door three times.

Erica looked up from her bowl as the sound of knocking reached her. She frowned; she wasn't expecting any visitors. Erica got to her feet, quickly dusting off her skirt and closing her grimoire before moving to answer the door. "Hello, may I help you?" she asked cautiously, spotting the two men standing on her front porch. There was something about them that was a bit off-putting.

Sam smiled and held out an ID card for Erica to inspect. "Sorry to disturb you, ma'am. We're from the local estate agent's; your landlord sent us to value the property. Can we come in?"

"Ah, um, yes, of course," Erica said, quickly burying her annoyance. Of course it would be _today_ that her landlord would want to evaluate the property; bastard was probably looking for some excuse to raise her rent. She'd have to find a way to curse him later, something minor but annoying. She didn't want to bring any hunters down on her head.

Dean led the way into the house, carefully studying everything he saw. He rapped his knuckles against a few random spots in the walls, studying the floor, walking carefully and acting like he was trying to determine if it was sagging. After several minutes of this, he met Sam in the living room. "Looking good so far," he said. "Find anything on your end?"

Sam had found some witchcraft paraphernalia, but no evidence solid enough for them to call it proof. "A little muck, but no permanent damage," he answered carefully, turning to Erica. "Can we take a look upstairs?"

Erica stiffened—her grimoire was laying on her dresser upstairs, in her bedroom. However, she couldn't deny the men; they would just return, bearing legal documents that gave them the right to inspect her house. Better to cooperate; they didn't seem like they were really looking very closely, so maybe her rent wouldn't go up too much if she helped them. "Of course," she answered, smiling half-heartedly and leading the way up the stairs.

Sam followed Dean up the stairs and opted to take a look in the bathroom. Erica followed Dean into the bedroom, so Sam probably wasn't going to find anything damning, but there might be something in the cupboards. Once again, the incense he came across could be seen as evidence of witchcraft, but it could also be evidence that Erica liked the smell. Disheartened, Sam met Dean on the landing and gave his report—that everything was in order but that some damp would need to be treated soon if major problems were to be avoided. "Do you have everything you need?" he asked hopefully, praying that Dean had had better luck.

Dean had been aware of Erica following him into the bedroom, so he'd made sure to pay special attention to his surroundings; surely, if she was a witch, she'd be following him because the more damning evidence was in the bedroom?

He'd spotted some ugly bowls that looked like the kind he'd seen other witches use in rituals, as well as a lot of uglier books and jars. "She's got some creepy-ass and near-useless decorations, as far as I can see," he reported.

Erica gritted her teeth behind the man's back. _How dare he insult the sacred vessels!_ she seethed. Now if only she knew what _he_ held sacred, then she could—

Erica gasped as a bolt of pain lanced through her head. "Migraine," she managed to grit out before bolting for the bathroom. She barely made it in time; visions began to crowd her mind, a little leftover gift from a scrying mission gone wrong. Erica could see the two men in various diners; the setting constantly changed, but they varied little, only changing as it looked like they grew older—"Of course," she murmured as the truth dawned on her. "Those men are brothers. And that ass holds his brother more sacred than anything else in this world." A slow smirk curled her lips. "Besmirch my sacred objects, then, will you?" she growled under her breath, quickly gathering what she needed; luckily this was a fairly simple spell. She didn't even have to use their DNA; it simply tied the younger brother—the taller one—to the older even closer than before; let him into the older brother's head. 

It took only a moment to set up the spell, and she quickly chanted under her breath in the ancient language that her grandmother had taught her. " _Let the sacred stand near till not only sacred; let the relationship wither, till it's changed for another._ "

Sam and Dean had used Erica's absence as an opportunity to talk candidly; Sam mentioned the incense he'd found and Dean told him about the grimoire that was on the dresser. Altar or no, that book was exactly what they needed. Erica was a witch. "Come on," Sam muttered, his eyes on the bathroom door. "Let's get out of here. We have to undo her spells before we can deal with her."

Dean nodded; he didn't like how long she'd been in the bathroom. "We'll come back later," he agreed, heading towards the front door. He paused to let Sam go through the door first, absently noting how nice his ass looked in those pants.

_Nice ass._

Sam didn't even hesitate. "You're hilarious," he snorted, rolling his eyes even though Dean couldn't see him and walking up to the Impala with an exaggerated sway to his hips, just to be a bitch. "Can you get in the damn car before she notices we've left, please?"

Dean frowned in confusion. "I didn't say anything, dude," he pointed out, sliding behind the steering wheel. "But yeah. Let's get the hell out of here."

Erica watched the two men leave, and smirked. She knew she'd been made, but really, she didn't care. She'd cursed the Winchester brothers, and now she was going to leave before they could come after her. Maybe she'd activate a few cloaking spells, just in case.

***

Sam watched with mild interest as Dean knocked back his third shot in as many minutes. Sam himself was only nursing a beer, but he understood his brother's frustration. They'd spent all day working to undo Erica's spells, and then, when they'd gone back to her house to finish her off, they found that she'd vanished. There was absolutely nothing left behind; the entire house was completely empty and none of the neighbours seemed to remember that she'd ever lived there. So, naturally, the Winchesters were pissed. The bar had been Dean's suggestion, and in the time Sam had taken to think all of it through once more—just to remind himself that this shit really had happened to them—he had knocked back another couple of shots and was signalling the bartender for some more. "You wanna slow down?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised. "Y'know, before you fall down?"

"No," Dean snapped, the alcohol buzzing through him, twining and mixing with the anger. It seemed to both dull and sharpen the anger. "I fucking hate witches," he mumbled, scowling into his glass.

"We'll get her," Sam promised as he stood up. "As soon as she pops back onto the radar, we'll get her. You want something to eat?"

Catching sight of a girl eyeing him from farther down the bar, Dean shook his head. "Nah. I'll catch up with you later." He got up and walked over, sliding into the stool next to her. Sam sighed as he watched Dean go, his expression fond and a little exasperated. Some things would never change.

After a couple more drinks, the girl leaned in to whisper in Dean's ear. "Wanna come with me, baby? Too impatient to go home." Her voice was a low, throaty purr that shot straight to Dean's cock.

"Hell yeah," he grinned, getting up and following her back to the bathroom—cliche, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He'd barely locked the door before she was pressing him up against it, kissing him furiously while scrabbling at his jeans. Dean wondered if this was how Sam kissed, but quickly shoved the thought out of his mind and focused on the girl.

Sam's eyes widened as he heard the question— _"is this how Sam kisses?"_ —before narrowing as he realised that Dean was fucking with him. He'd been standing by the sinks when his brother and his girl of the moment had stumbled into a stall, and he'd thought that he'd gone unnoticed, but apparently not. Well, if Dean was going to be a jerk _and_ a whore tonight, then Sam was going to leave his ass here. The keys to the Impala had changed hands when Dean had ordered his second shot, thanks to Sam's sticky fingers and his awareness of Dean's tendency to drive drunk, so Sam made sure to slam the bathroom door as he left and wandered through the bar to the parking lot. Dean could walk back to the motel—assuming he remembered where it was.

Afterwards, Dean stumbled out of the bar, a sloppy grin on his face. He sobered as soon as he realized the Impala wasn't there. He quickly rifled through his pockets, swearing when he realized that the keys weren't in his pocket. His phone was, though, and he called Sam. "What the hell happened to my baby?" he demanded as soon as Sam picked up.

"You were being a fucking asshole, again," Sam answered easily around a mouthful of Doritos. He'd been expecting this call. "So I lifted your keys and I left. You're not sober enough to drive anyway; you can thank me in the morning when you wake up and your car isn't a pretzel." Dean swore violently and fluently at Sam, even long after Sam had hung up on him. Then he set off on foot for the motel—no way in hell was he staying at the bar. When he arrived, he shot Sam a glare before ducking into the bathroom to take a shower.

***

A few weeks later they still hadn't caught up with Erica, but that was the least of their problems. "I don't give a flying fuck how much older than me you are," Sam argued as they entered the current motel room, their shoes squelching with every step they took. "I am having the first shower. That son of a bitch exploded on _me_! You can wait your damn turn." Dean continued to bitch about how Sam had gotten monster goop all over his precious car, meaning that he deserved the first shower as compensation, but Sam just ignored him and kept walking, ultimately slamming the bathroom door in his brother's face and flipping the lock. Dean's outraged protests were immediately muffled. _Finally_. 

Sam took his own sweet time in the shower, scrubbing at himself until the deliciously hot water ran clear instead of murky green and then washing his hair twice. When at last he emerged, it was with a cloud of steam and a fluffy towel wrapped around his waist, and he felt fantastic. "All yours," he grunted in the direction of Dean, who was perching precariously on the edge of his bed, his own towel under his ass so as to not get any goop on the sheets. "I even left you some hot water, because I'm a good, _considerate_ brother."

Dean glared up at Sam, scowling, but it froze on his face as he took in the sight of Sam half-naked. _Holy shit. When the hell did Sammy get so built?_ Dean realized he was starting to get hard, so he shot to his feet, snagged his towel, and shoved past Sam into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He stripped hastily, then flung himself into the shower, turning the dial as cold as it would go, scrubbing at his skin frantically, cheeks burning.

No, just—Just no. Sammy was his _baby brother,_ dammit! Thoughts like that were completely over the line, even for them.

It took Sam a few moments to notice that Dean had left the room, given that he was frozen in shock. He'd heard Dean speak, asking when Sam had gotten so built, but he hadn't _seen_ Dean speak. Dean's lips hadn't so much as twitched. 

Was this what Yellow Eyes had in store for him next? Was he... was he hearing his brother's thoughts? 

Sam still hadn't moved when Dean came back from his shower.

Dean almost ran into Sam's back when he emerged from the bathroom. "Sammy, you alright?" he asked, moving in front of Sam and laying a hand on his brother's shoulder.

Sam flinched so hard that Dean's hand slipped off, and he spun to face his brother, holding tight onto the knot in his towel for reasons he really didn't want to think about. "Yeah," he answered, after a pause that was just a second too long. "Yeah, I'm fine. We need to do laundry." It was a stupid thing to say, but Sam thought that it was excusable given the realisation he'd just come to. He turned away from Dean once more and grabbed his bag, careful to keep his back to the room while he dressed.

Dean watched Sam warily. What the hell was going on with his brother? Yeah, Ava was missing, and they'd just worked that case with the weird-ass child ghost and the lady who thought they were—

Wait.

What if…

Oh _shit._ What if Sam had seen Dean's hard-on earlier? Dean's blood ran cold. It was the first time, but Sam wouldn't know that. Jesus Christ, _Dean_ didn't even know why the hell he'd been getting hard; yeah, Sam was good-looking, but he was also Dean's little brother! Dean would _never_ do anything; hell, he didn't even want to think about it.

"Yeah, sure," he finally said, his voice a bit wavery as he got dressed as well. "We'll do that before dinner."

Sam screwed his eyes shut, trying to block out the incessant noise inside his head. Dean was panicking about something—panicking about getting hard... because of Sam? _Oh Jesus_.

"You know what?" Sam said abruptly, trying not to sound as freaked out as he felt. "I'll go do the laundry; you get the food." He went into the bathroom to stuff their stinking, soggy clothes into a plastic bag, snatched Dean's duffel up with his own as soon as he was dressed and marched do the door. "Meet you back here?" he asked, slightly breathless. "Great." And then he was gone.

Dean bit his lip once Sam was out of the room, and then rubbed a hand over his face. Just fucking great.

***

The two brothers were even more distant as they finished up in town, and then headed for the Roadhouse. They didn't have a hunt lined up, so now was as good a time as any to check up with Ash, see if he'd found anything on Yellow Eyes. The drive took most of the day, and even with REO Speedwagon, Foreigner, Def Leppard, and Led Zepplin blaring from the Impala's speakers, Dean could still feel the tension between him and Sam.

Sam was the first out of the car when he arrived, and he nodded a greeting to Jo, who was already trying not to look too eager for a glimpse of Dean, before heading to the bar to take the beer Ellen was holding out to him. "Thanks," he murmured, popping the cap and bringing the bottle to his lips. "Ash around?"

"As always, honey," Ellen smiled. "Go on through, but then you come right back here so we can have a chat, y'hear?"

Sam nodded. "Will do." He grabbed his beer, and another one for Ash, and disappeared into the back to see their resident genius.

Dean grabbed a beer as well, but he hung back, chatting with Jo for a few minutes. Jo gave him a suspicious look. "How come you ain't back there with Sam?" she asked.

Dean shrugged. "Sam ain't been too keen on my company lately," was all he said on the matter. It hurt like a bitch, that he and Sam were so distant, especially now, but hell, what was he supposed to do to fix it? Say "Sorry for getting hard looking at your gorgeous body?"

A few minutes later Sam and Ash emerged from the back room to join Dean and Jo at the bar. "I got nothin'," Ash confessed with a shrug. "Absolutely jack squat on your mystery demon. But Sam here was double-checkin' my numbers and he thinks he's found somethin' else."

Sam hummed as he slid onto the stool beside Jo. Ash raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. "Nothing on Yellow Eyes," he confirmed, "or any of the kids—y'know, like me. But I think I spotted some signs that a kitsune is in town, not far from here. Figured if anything we could pump it for information? Those bastards know everything."

Dean grinned, pride rushing through him. His little brother was a genius; hunting wasn't good enough for him. He didn't say anything like that, though. "Nerd," he snorted instead, reaching over to punch Sam in the shoulder. "Better make sure that brain of yours don't bust right out of your skull."

Sam stared at Dean, bemused. The words coming out of his mouth did not match the thoughts in his head—not exactly a surprise, but Sam had had no idea that Dean was... proud of him. He found himself smiling where he would normally pull a bitchface, completely unable to help it. "Yeah yeah," he laughed, raising his beer to his lips. "You'd be fuckin' lost without me, man." For the first time in a long time, Sam was starting to think that it might be true.

Dean stared at Sam's lips wrapped around the mouth of his bottle, and then very deliberately forced his mind away from thoughts of what Sam's mouth would— _No,_ he told himself sternly. _Stay focused on the case._ "So where exactly is this kitsune, do you think?"

Sam choked, yanking the bottle away from his mouth as he coughed and spluttered. Shit, Dean was thinking about Sam giving him blow jobs now? "Uhh, Amherst," he wheezed while Ash slapped him on the back. "It's in Amherst."

Dean eyed Sam worriedly from the corner of his eye. What the hell was up with him? "Okay, that's only a few hours from here. We can head out soon, get there later tonight, or we could stay here and head out in the morning," he said finally, still frowning quizzically at Sam.

"Well, boys, you two are more than welcome to stay, but I gotta tell ya, the only bed I got available is a double. If you two don't mind sharin', it's yours," Ellen told them, approaching to push more beers across the bar. "You okay there, Sam?"

Sam was aware that the blood had probably drained from his face, but he managed to offer Ellen a smile. "Yeah, I'm good." He turned to Dean. "Maybe we should head out soon? Like, now?"

Dean cast Sam another puzzled look, but nodded anyway. "After I finish my beer and hit the head," he acquiesced, tilting his bottle towards Sam before draining it and getting to his feet, walking back towards the bathroom.

As soon as Dean had disappeared, Ellen was on Sam, Jo and Ash just sitting back to watch with mild interest. "Are you sure you're okay, kid?"

Sam flushed. "I'm fine. I just really want to find this demon, you know?" _And I really wish that I didn't know my brother wants to have sex with me_. He really needed to get a grip on himself before Dean noticed something was wrong.

Ellen's expression softened and Jo put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I understand, honey," Ellen said gently. "You'll get the bastard, don't you worry."

Sam smiled, and then jumped up when Dean emerged from the bathroom. "You ready?"

Dean nodded, then turned and gave Ellen and Jo a quick hug before clapping Ash on the shoulder and giving him a quick "thanks." Once they were back in the car, Dean gave Sam an odd look. "You're not usually the smoothest character," he began. "But that was weird, even for you."

Sam shrugged, avoiding Dean's eyes. "I just, I want to catch up to the demon, okay?" he lied, and immediately felt bad because it was a lie. Finding the bastard that killed their mom _should_ be his priority, not the fact that Dean thought he was hot. "Let's just go."

"Oh," Dean said quietly, pulling out onto the highway. Of course Sam was worried about ganking the demon; the sooner the demon was dead, the sooner Sam could go back to college, back to his "normal" life. Dean very carefully kept his face blank as he drove; he really didn't want to think about Sammy leaving, even though it would be for the best, best for him to get away from his fucked up older brother.

Sam sighed, watching Dean out of the corner of his eye. His brother sounded miserable, and he didn't even need the new mind reading thing to tell him why. "It's not about college," he said at last, equal parts fond and exasperated. If he was honest with himself, it wasn't even about getting away from Dean. Inappropriate thoughts or not, Sam didn't want to leave him. 

Dean shrugged. "I never said anything about college," he pointed out evenly. Sam had always wanted a normal life; Dean couldn't very well expect that to have gone away just because they were still after the demon. "Tell me more about the kitsune," he said abruptly, changing the subject to distract himself from the hurt that came from thinking of Sammy leaving.

Sam wanted to argue, wanted to insist that he wasn't going to leave Dean, but he couldn't do so without arousing suspicion. Instead, he turned his head so that he was looking out of the passenger window and answered Dean's question. "Kitsunes are of Japanese origin. Werefoxes, essentially. They're tricky little bastards, like to cause trouble, but they have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. If we show that we're not a threat, it might tell us what it knows about the demon."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Problem is, you said that they know almost everything. So it's probably going to know we're hunters, right?" He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, absently drumming out the beat to "Juke Box Hero" as he thought. "That probably won't go over well. How do we show we're not a threat?"

Sam shrugged. "We go unarmed. It probably won't be doing anything awful, so we shouldn't have to put it down. I guess if we point that out and say that we want to talk, not fight, it might listen."

Dean made a noncommittal grunt. "Sounds like a plan."

***

The "plan," such as it was, didn't work out so well. All the kitsune could tell them was something about not all of Sam's gifts coming from the demon, which made absolutely _no_ sense to Dean; Sam wouldn't hide any new talents from him, would he?

Afterwards, when they were back in the room with a beer and a burger each, some old action movie playing on the television—Dean thought it might have been _Die Hard_ —but Dean couldn't really concentrate on anything. Sam was only on the other bed, but Dean thought it might as well be across the country. Sam had been increasingly distant with him since the incident with the goop monster.

Sam would normally watch Dean out of the corner of his eye during nights like these, but now he didn't need to see his face to read his mind. He sighed. "Do you want to go out?" he asked, gaze focused on the TV. "Hit up a bar, drink away our sorrows? That kitsune had _no_ useful info." That wasn't strictly true, but Sam needed to think about what the kitsune had told him before he discussed it with Dean. This ability to hear his brother's thoughts hadn't come from Yellow Eyes—but that didn't mean it was safe to mention. It didn't mean he wasn't a freak.

Dean shook his head. "Don't feel like going out," he said, shrugging slightly. In reality, he didn't want to go to a bar where all those girls would be staring at him like he was something rare and edible, where he would be nothing more than a quick fuck. Before he could stop it, he wistfully wished that _Sam_ would look at him like that; he wouldn't mind being a quick fuck with Sam. Dean was quick to stomp on that thought, though; Sam _was_ right there in the room with him. It'd be too weird to think about things like that right now.

Sam flinched, and then turned it into a shiver so that Dean didn't notice. _Jesus Christ_. He'd known that Dean had low self esteem issues, but this was ridiculous. Apparently Dean didn't like the way women treated him—but he was willing to let Sam treat him like that. An 'anything is better than nothing' kind of deal. Why was Dean so desperate for non-brotherly affection from Sam that he'd willingly demean himself like that?

Could it be possible that the inappropriate thoughts Sam had been privy to lately weren't just about sex? Could it be... something more?

Sam watched Dean out of the corner of his eye, but his face was giving away even less than his thoughts were. Dean was now forcing himself to imagine the woman on screen naked, and he sounded more repulsed than Sam was. It was hopeless.

"Well, do you want a drink anyway?" Sam asked abruptly. "I know there's a bottle of bourbon in your duffel."

Dean startled at the harsh edge in Sam's voice, looking at Sam in surprise. "Sure," he said slowly, getting off of the bed and grabbing the bottle. _Sam isn't usually a drinker, though,_ he mused to himself as he poured two shots, passing one over to Sam before climbing back onto his bed. He studied the liquid intently before glancing over at Sam.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked, watching Sam closely. "You've been weird since we went after that swamp monster."

Sam downed his shot and poured himself another one before answering, needing the time to think. "I'm fine," he said at last, shrugging Dean's concerns off. "Everything's just been building up, you know? The demon, dad, these weird powers... It's a lot." _And that isn't even half of it_.

Dean frowned, nodding slightly. "Yeah, it is," he agreed, downing his own shot. He didn't pour himself another, though; the sight of Sam drinking was making him uneasy. "But hey, we'll find the demon, kill it, and then get on with our lives." Dean didn't have to say the word "separate"; for him, it was a given.

Sam looked away. He hated that Dean automatically assumed Sam would go his separate way when this was over. Yes, Sam had said as much, but things were different now. Weren't they? At a loss, Sam downed his second shot and tried to push the issue. "What comes after the demon, then? More hunting?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, I don't know anything else. I can't be normal." _But you can—you've always wanted normal, always tried to make it happen._

Sam laughed. "Neither can I," he confessed, shooting Dean a glance. "But we could try."

Dean had to look away, swallowing dryly. Sam didn't know what his words did to Dean—and he never would, if Dean had his way. "I'm a hunter, Sam. I like helping people, I like killing these evil bastards," he said, shrugging and toying with the edge of the blanket.

That was exactly what Sam had been expecting, and he found himself nodding in agreement. "Okay," he said decisively, deliberately. "Then that's what we'll do."

"Wait, what?" Dean stared at Sam, mouth agape. "No, you don't—Sam. What about college? Your normal life—why would you want to _stay_ in this life?"

Sam shrugged. "What you said," he offered after a moment. "It's the family business. And I'm way too much of a freak to ever have a normal life. I might as well accept that I belong here." _With you_.

Dean blinked once in surprise, and then looked down at his hands, which had clenched the sheet beneath him so tightly that he half-feared it would rip if he so much as twitched. "Once Yellow Eyes is dead, you might not have those powers anymore. You could go back then," he forced out around the dry lump in his throat. He wanted Sam to stay—wanted it _so badly_ —but Sam wouldn't be happy hunting. Hell, he'd barely tolerated it long enough to get out, go to college.

Sam grit his teeth against the onslaught of Dean's thoughts. He just didn't get it—but then, Sam didn't really either. "The powers aren't really a huge factor," he said after a moment. "I know what's out there; I can't just abandon the world to deal with it. And we're brothers, man. I can't leave you out here alone to get killed. If I've learnt anything since Jess, it's that we either get out together, or we stay in together."

"We're brothers, not lovers," Dean said sharply, his head snapping up to glare at Sam. "Don't make it sound like it's do-or-die for us. You're the one who left, Sam. You were always looking for a way out. You're just gonna give that up to live a life as a drifter? No home, no girlfriend; hell, no _friends_?"

"Jesus Christ!" Sam snapped, standing up. He put his glass on the table and shoved his feet into his shoes, unwilling to stay in the same room as his imbecile of a brother for a moment longer. Just before he slammed the door behind him, he turned back to Dean and demanded, "When are you going to realise that I didn't leave y _ou_?"

Dean flinched at the sound of the door slamming, staring at it uncomprehendingly. What the hell did Sam mean? He'd left everything and everyone—Dad, hunting, Dean—hadn't he?

Dean slowly settled back on the bed before jumping out and stripping before slipping under the covers, rolled onto his side so he was facing the door. His mind whirred with thoughts flitting faster than a hummingbird's wings. They didn't calm even after he fell into uneasy sleep, startling awake periodically, waiting for Sam to come back—if he came back.

Sam didn't return that night. He realised that it was a dick move, especially after insisting that he wasn't going to leave Dean, but he needed his space. He needed to hear his own thoughts for once. Especially those concerning when the hell he’d gotten so used to—maybe even _welcoming of_ —the thought that Dean wanted him, wanted to be with him.

When morning dawned, he still hadn't come up with an answer to any of the questions that were spinning around in his mind, but he realised that he needed to go back. It wouldn't be fair to keep Dean waiting any longer. Sam walked into their motel room at 10am with two cups of coffee and a bagel smeared with cream cheese: his version of the olive branch, perfected over years of screw ups and teenage tantrums. Dean didn't make a huge display of forgiving him, just as Sam didn't make one of apologising, but he did eat the bagel with enthusiasm and thank the gods that Sam hadn't brought him a girly coffee drink. Sam figured it was the best he was going to get.

It took another week for things to come to a head. A week during which they stubbornly did not talk about anything more than the current case, but which was filled with relentless chatter all the same. Dean's chatter. Dean's internal chatter. It was driving Sam up the wall.

While he showered, Dean jerked off to the thought of Sam naked and on his knees. While he drove, he wondered if Sam experimented during college, and if so, did he top or bottom? While he slept, he dreamed about Sam fucking him through the mattress and actually came in his boxers a few times. But it wasn't all about sex. Sometimes, when a pretty girl smiled at him in just the right way, Dean would wish that he could receive that look from Sam just once—and one afternoon, when a girl whose life they had just saved kissed Sam out of sheer gratitude, Dean watched while Sam kissed back, just to be polite, and asked himself why it hurt so much that he had to look away.

It was this thought that brought Sam to breaking point. 

Neither spoke on the ride back to the motel. It was stupidly late and both were exhausted, so they were spending one more night there before heading out in the morning. Honestly, he probably couldn't have picked a worse time to bring it up, but when Sam followed Dean into the room he knew he had to say something. Dean's mind was still on the kiss from before, and Sam had had enough. Still, he should have at least thought before he opened his mouth.

"Will you stop thinking about it and just fucking kiss me already?!"

Dean's brain promptly shut down. Good-bye, hasta-la-vista, adieu, so long and thanks for all the fish. "Wha—what?" he managed to choke out past the rising panic. Shit shit shit shitshitshitshitshit _shit_. Sam knew. Sam knew. _Sam knew._

Then the entirety of what Sam had said sank in, but it still didn't make any sense. Sam knew, and he wasn't freaking out? He was pissed, yeah, but... Was he seriously pissed because Dean _hadn't_ kissed him yet?

Sam rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "Jesus fuck, the one time you're completely incoherent and it's the one time I need you not to be." It was clear that he was going to have to take matters into his own hands here. Dean could have his breakdown afterwards, but for now Sam had other ideas. He crossed the room in three long strides and cradled Dean's face between his hands, angling it up just right before ducking his own head down, closing his eyes and finally, _finally_ , slanting his mouth across his brother's.

Dean let out a choked noise, his hands flying up to clutch at Sam's upper arms—and when the hell had _he_ become the girl in this equation?—as he kissed Sam back desperately. This could be his only chance to know what Sam tasted like, to find out how Sam kissed.

The short answer? Really fucking amazingly. Dean finally had to pull back before he died from asphyxiation. He let his forehead rest against Sam's, panting slightly, his eyes closed and his lips tingling. "Sammy," he finally whispered, his voice hoarse. "Why—?"

"Because I want it," Sam answered simply. "And I know you want it, too. So let's have it."

Dean pulled back slightly, searching Sam's gaze intently. All he found there was love, want, and a steadiness that steadied Dean in turn. He slowly let out a breath, nodding. "Okay," he whispered, carefully leaning forward to kiss Sam again. He still couldn't quit believe this was really happening, much less that _Sam_ had been the one to initiate it.

Sam actually laughed into Dean's mouth. Like Dean would have initiated anything if Sam hadn't taken pity on him. He was a little too busy to say that, though; instead, he slid his hands into Dean's hair and pulled him in close, kissing him until they were both breathless again. It felt better than either of them had imagined. 

Dean hummed happily, feeling a bit giddy. Sam was kissing him, and it was even more amazing than he'd ever dared dream.

It still had nothing on Sam fucking him into the mattress, though.

***

Afterwards, Dean and Sam were lying on the bed, Sam on his back, Dean cuddled(yes, he was secure enough in his masculinity despite taking it up the ass to admit that he was cuddling with his little brother/lover) up against Sam's side, his hand resting over Sam's heartbeat. They were both quiet, drifting in that post-orgasm haze that could potentially lead to sleep.

For once in his life, however, Dean didn't want sleep; he wanted answers. "So," he began conversationally. "Not that that wasn't the greatest sex in my life, but... What brought it on?"

Sam just chuckled, too lost in the pleasure still thrumming beneath his skin for his brain-to-mouth filter to work. Dean hadn't been wrong when he'd said 'best sex of his life'. "You wouldn't shut up about it; I had to do _something_."

Dean froze, his head snapping up in panic. The panic died quickly, though, and he narrowed his eyes at Sam in suspicion. "I never said anything about it," he stated, his voice low.

Sam was jolted out of his daze by the words, and immediately mourned the bliss he'd been experiencing before he'd opened his stupid mouth. He was quiet for a moment, listening intently to see if Dean's theories about what Sam had just said would give him an out, but he heard... nothing. Absolutely nothing. Relief swept through him—it had stopped!—before being replaced with a kind of sadness. _Oh_.

There was no time to analyse that, though. Dean was watching him expectantly; he wanted answers. Sam didn't see the point in lying. "No, you never _said_ anything," he agreed slowly, a sheepish expression on his face. "But you thought about it... quite a lot."

Dean frowned; in what universe did that make sense? Then, things from the past few weeks began clicking into place and he glared at Sam, smacking him in the chest. "You _asshole_! You trying to tell me you were reading my mind or some shit?"

"Something like that," Sam admitted, loosening his arms from around Dean in case he wanted to hit him or leave or something. "I didn't want to tell you because I thought it was like the visions, and I didn't need you knowing that I was even more of a freak, but then the kitsune told me it wasn't about Yellow Eyes and it was too late to say something. I'd already heard you thinking about me sucking your cock; you'd have killed me. It's stopped now though, I swear. I think it was that witch, the one we lost."

Dean sat up, scooting away from Sam a little bit. He needed the space to think clearly. He wrapped his arms around himself, staring sightlessly at the bedsheets as he turned all of this over in his mind.

Eventually he sighed and situated himself back against Sam's side. "Fucking witches," he muttered.

Sam laughed, dizzy with relief, and cuddled Dean closer. "Yeah," he agreed, his lips against Dean's temple. "But I think this one deserves a fruit basket."

 


End file.
